


you can trust me (i'll never let you fall)

by SafelyCapricious



Series: ain't no grave can hold my body down [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Negative Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: Sansa has done her best to not even look at the groom — she doesn’t know him.She’s a foolish girl to still have hope, it should’ve been beaten out of her by now. So she keeps her eyes lowered and tries not to look at the stranger next to her and she tries not to think.If it was a stranger that her parents had chosen for her then maybe, but no, he’s been chosen by the Baratheons and Lannisters, and the only thing she can be thankful for is that he’s not one of them — but she’s sure that won’t make much of a difference.
Relationships: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark
Series: ain't no grave can hold my body down [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950148
Comments: 30
Kudos: 229





	you can trust me (i'll never let you fall)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Stop Desire by Tegan And Sara 
> 
> For an anonymous prompt from an arranged marriage list that I got _ages_ ago on tumblr. Sansa and Oberyn for “Are you scared? Don’t be. I‘ll protect you from today onwards.” Some liberties taken with the exact word choice. 
> 
> _Also_ for fictober, day 6. Poison.
> 
> Also-also, I've had a shitty day, so any and all love is appreciated. ty.

Sansa has done her best to not even look at the groom — she doesn’t know him. She tries not to let herself think that it’s a good thing. Tries not to think that maybe he won’t beat her, maybe he won’t rape her.

She’s a foolish girl to still have hope, it should’ve been beaten out of her by now. So she keeps her eyes lowered and tries not to look at the stranger next to her and she tries not to think.

If it was a stranger that her parents had chosen for her then maybe, but no, he’s been chosen by the Baratheons and Lannisters, and the only thing she can be thankful for is that he’s not one of them — but she’s sure that won’t make much of a difference.

His voice is pleasant when he states his vows before the Seven, and his hand warm where he clasps hers, and his voice will probably be pleasant still when it is hurling abuse at her and his hand warm when he uses it to hit her — if she’s lucky.

She’s proud of herself that her voice doesn’t waver when she says what she must, gaze fixed somewhere else, and then he’s placing a cloak around her shoulders and she has to fight off a moment of hysteria as she realizes she’s paid so little attention she doesn’t even know what her name is anymore.

Sansa Someone, Sansa No-one, Sansa Stupid-Little-Girl.

He places his hands on her shoulders to guide her and it takes every bit of willpower she has not to flinch or fight him — maybe, maybe, maybe she will be lucky and will be able to convince him she’s having her woman’s time and cannot — but will that stop him?

Yes, she decides, at first it will, because they want a child with Stark blood to appease the North, but after the first time…after the first child who will be taken away from her before she’s even seen it in all likelihood, after that he won’t care.

There’s not to be a feast, it was decided by the Queen Regent that she didn’t deserve a feast and she wonders what Cersei would say if she knew how grateful Sansa was for that?

Her steps falter when they don’t turn left from the Sept and she realizes she’s to be moved from her room — probably already has been — and the room has been nothing but a cell but it’s been hers and —

The world tries to grey around the edges and she bites her tongue until the pain makes the world sharpen again and she forces herself to keep walking while he leads her, now with a hand against her back and she’s so thankful to Shae that she had the foresight to put numbing lotion on her back, on the lashes she’d been gifted with for her wedding, or else she wouldn’t be able to pretend to tolerate any of this.

“This way, my lady,” he — her husband — says, his accent rounding the words and softening them in a way she’s unused to, as he helps her over a divot in the road and she realizes they are not returning to the Red Keep.

“Where —“ her voice cracks and she has to pause and fight for control and remind herself of the serenity of her lady mother. “Where are we going?” she lifts her skirts to avoid a puddle and adds on a hasty, “my lord.”

“Prince,” says one of the entourage, before the man at her side — her husband — hisses, “Leave it,” and takes her hand to help her.

“I don’t like to stay at the Keep,” he says, blandly, after they’re on more level ground again. “Bad memories.”

She nods slightly, like she understands. But she cannot imagine that anyone has beat this man in the Great Hall, so she’s not sure what his bad memories could be. Her mind circles as they finally approach a building, grand, with a woman in a silk shift and little else leaning out the window looking down on them and — the man had corrected her 'lord' to 'prince' and — oh.

_Oh_.

Practice keeps the hysterical giggle behind her teeth as she’s led into the building. There are not so many men who are princes, and he’s older than her besides, but not bed bound and — the Dornish and the North have never been close, but even she knows the reputation of the Red Viper of Dorne.

She’d thought for sure she’d be forced to bare a child first — but Dornish laws are different. Maybe now that they’re married that will be enough, and she’ll be poisoned before the first night.

Sansa tries not to hope for that as she’s led to an empty room on the first floor, decorated in light blues. One of the chests is open and she sees her clothes in it and — it shouldn’t be a surprise to learn she’s been moved into her husband’s house without her having done anything. She wonders if all of her scant possessions even made it, or the last of her mementos from her lady mother are gone now.

There’s still a hand on her back, but she realizes the others with them have vanished as they’ve walked and a quick glance confirms the door is shut and —

It was certainly too much to hope for. A reprieve on her first night.

“My prince,” she says, eyes lowered, as she turns to face her husband. She tucks her hands against the cloth of the cloak he’s wrapped around her so that their tremble won’t be visible and she wonders, for a wild moment, what would happen if she fought him? But no, that would probably just excite him and make it worse.

She wishes her mother were here — or no, she doesn’t want her mother here, doesn’t want her mother to see what’s become of her and be ashamed — she wishes Shae were here to tell her what to do, how to behave best to have it over quick.

He takes a step back, and she raises her eyes because she cannot stand not knowing where he is, not knowing where the attack may be coming from. His dark eyes are staring at her and his mouth is down in a frown and she takes a deep breath to steel herself. “I’ve done something to displease you.” She states, trying for sorrow in her voice and hitting it mostly by accident. “What would please you?”

He hisses something she cannot hear, and her best attempts at not flinching fail. “You’re scared,” he says and she raises her chin and gives him the coldest look she can manage, putting all of the chill of the North in her bones to the test.

This, for some reason, draws a smile onto his lips and she tries not to think him an attractive man. “I mean,” he waves a hand through the air for a moment and then tucks it against his side, “you shouldn’t be scared. Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you from this day onward, as will the rest of Dorne, princess.”

She smiles, because she knows that’s what he must want to see now, and she doesn’t believe him though she knows he must want that too. She hopes it reaches her eyes. “Of course,” she agrees, nodding her head and dipping into a curtsey. “As my prince desires.”

The door shutting behind him is quiet, but the click seems to echo through the room and as she straightens from her curtsey she knows she’s made a mistake, she’s just not sure how. She’ll have to learn how to manage this prince, and soon, or she’s sure she’ll end up back in the halls of the Red Keep. Or dead.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the fact that she’s more afraid of the former than the latter.

***

“She’s scared of me,” Oberyn states, frowning out the window like the entire outside world is to blame. And, he supposes, it probably is. He’s faintly aware of Ellaria moving around the room behind him, humming at his words and leaving him to his complaining.

“Are you surprised?” she asks, after several long moments have passed, draping herself over his back and tucking her face into his neck.

He relaxes back into her and clasps a hand around her arm where it wraps around his waist. “No, I suppose I’m not, but I wish…”

“If wishes were horses, my love, even beggars would ride,” she chides, kissing his neck before trying to pull away — except he turns around and takes her into his arms instead, and tries to forget that for a moment, before he’d seen the fear in her eyes, he’d wanted his wife.

She is young — younger than he should be interested in, for all that she’s a woman bloomed and his wife besides. But her eyes had been old and fierce and — she won’t break, his new wife, he knows now, for all that attempts were obviously made.

But he won’t let anyone hurt her, not again, not now that she’s under his protection. And that includes protection from him, which means he needs to tuck this attraction away and ignore it, perhaps forever.

“She has a spine of steal,” he tells his love, as his hands smooth down the silk of her shift, “despite her fear.”

“Good,” Ellaria’s voice is fierce, and he realizes his love will defend his wife as well, that the single glance she’d had must have already made her feel protective. “Then we’ll teach her to be a sword.”

He lets out a breath and nods, forcing his shoulders to relax as he considers the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably will be OT3 eventually. Once Sansa no longer thinks she's definitely going to die. I want to continue this, we'll see if I succeed. 
> 
> If you wanna chat come bug me on my [writing tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/capriciouswrites).
> 
> Lemme know what you think.


End file.
